


I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus

by reindeerjumper



Series: Daddy Darcy [13]
Category: Bridget Jones's Diary (2001), Bridget Jones's Diary - All Media Types, Bridget Jones's Diary - Helen Fielding
Genre: Bridget has an idea, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Smut, Darcy Style, F/M, Family, I Saw Mommy Kissing Claus (Song), I bet you didn't know that Mark secretly loves Christmas, Married Life, Parenthood, Parenting 101, and Mark is the scapegoat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 19:44:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9008497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reindeerjumper/pseuds/reindeerjumper
Summary: Bridget wants Will's third Christmas to be magical, so she convinces Mark to dress up like Santa to help put out his presents. They didn't really expect to get caught, though...





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays, everyone! Just a little Christmas fun for everyone. I hope you enjoy! All mistakes & typos are mine, as usual (I find editing boring).

****

If one were to consider who in the Darcy family was more of a humbug at Christmas, everyone’s initial reaction would most certainly be Mark. With his quiet, serious demeanor and mostly black wardrobe, it was hard to imagine anyone  _ but  _ Mark being a little less than jolly around the holidays.

Ironically, nothing could be further from the truth. While Bridget enjoyed Christmas (as any hopeless romantic would), it was actually Mark who reveled in the the jollity and magic of the holiday season. Mark liked to use his mother as a scapegoat when it came to his rather flamboyant Christmas wardrobe, but Mark secretly liked all of the sweaters and ties that he proudly wore to parties and gatherings. 

Once December rolled around,  _ he _ was the one urging Bridget to hurry out and get a tree, and  _ he _ was the one who set aside a special night to decorate it as a family. He took extra care with the collection of ornaments each year, telling Bridget and Will the story behind each as he unwrapped them from their newspaper shells. Bridget, at this point, could recite each story by heart, but she secretly enjoyed watching her husband bend over their three year old son as he animatedly told him about receiving the different baubles from his mother as he grew up. It also didn't hurt that Mark’s eye for detail meant that their tree was impeccable by the time he was finished with it. Not an inch of it wasn't covered in lights and tinsel, and all of Mark’s precious Christmas mementoes were sprinkled throughout the branches. 

Since having Will, Mark’s enthusiasm for the holidays increased tenfold. When they had dated, Mark had quietly made a huge deal about Christmas. He would do things like leave Bridget an advent calendar’s worth of gifts during December, or surprise her at random moments with a sprig of mistletoe just to snog her senseless. Now, though, Mark exalted the holidays at the top of his reserved lungs. Every inch of their home was decorated for the holidays, from the boughs of pine that trimmed the bannister to the handcut snowflakes that Mark meticulously created and hung in the kitchen. He even had decked out Will’s nursery with its own tiny Christmas tree, taking pride in having started his son’s own ornament collection.

Bridget's favorite moment was on Christmas morning when both of her boys would be sitting on the floor amongst Will’s presents. Mark usually would be in tartan pajama pants and an undershirt, with his navy dressing gown on top, and Will would be in footie pajamas that Elaine Darcy had bought for him--they were red and green with the words “ELF SIZE” emblazoned across his chest. Will’s curls matched Mark’s--completely crazy and slept-on, their fluff begging to be touched--and the grins they both wore were megawatt. Bridget left the gift opening to Mark while she sat on the couch with her feet tucked underneath her, a cheshire grin on her face as she peeked over the rim of her coffee mug. 

Because of Mark’s hyper appreciation of the holidays, Bridget had what she deemed as a brilliant idea.

The night before Christmas Eve, after putting Will to bed, Bridget and Mark sat on the sofa in the living room, curled up together watching “White Christmas”. Mark had poured them both a glass of red wine and Bridget was relishing being able to tuck herself against her husband’s warmth and enjoy the smell of his aftershave. All of the lights were off except for the glow of the tree in the corner, and Bridget felt an immense amount of affection towards Mark. He lazily had draped an arm around her and would occasionally plant a kiss against her temple (especially during the scenes with Bing Crosby and Rosemary Clooney). 

As the credits started to roll, Mark drained his wine glass and placed one more kiss against Bridget's hair. Bridget snuggled in closer to him, putting her own arm around his torso and placing languid kisses against the stubbly underside of his jawline. Mark let out a low growl, nuzzling his face towards Bridget's mouth. 

Bridget smiled against his jaw and murmured, “Lovely night with the loveliest husband.” 

Mark pulled back to smile down at her. He placed a hand under her chin to angle her face up towards him, and he placed a soft, loving kiss against her mouth. “Agreed,” he replied once the kiss broke apart. 

“Thank you for always making Christmas so magical. The older Will gets, the more fun you make it.”

“Think he enjoyed tonight?”

“Oh, definitely.”

Mark had surprised Bridget and Will with a trip to Kew Gardens to see the Christmas displays. The lights and trees were absolutely magical, and Bridget wasn't sure who was more dumbfounded--her or Will. They had strolled through the grounds, all bundled up with Will in the pram, Bridget hanging on Mark’s arm with her mouth agape at the amazingness surrounding her. 

“It really was impressive,” she continued.

“I'm glad you enjoyed it. I'm also quite proud that Will was so good about sitting on Santa’s lap. I thought for sure we'd have a catastrophic meltdown on our hands.” 

“Agreed,” Bridget said pensively. Will was leery of strangers (a trait he had undoubtedly inherited from his father), so when they had gently placed him on Santa’s lap, the tension was incredibly thick. Luckily, their son had simply been fascinated with the fake Santa's beard as he inquisitively murmured, “Dis so soft. Santa's beard is sooo sooooft.” 

“Actually,” Bridget continued, “because he did so well last night with the Santa, I kind of had an idea…”

Mark pulled back to look down at her through the glasses perched on the end of his nose. “Oh did you?” he asked, the realization of this idea involving him crossing his face.

“Mmhmmm,” she murmured with a coy smile. “How would you feel about dressing up like Santa tomorrow night to help me put out his presents?”

For a nanosecond, panic flashed over Mark’s face. Bridget could see the gears working behind those soulful brown eyes, and for half a beat she thought he’d call her crazy and say no. Instead, Mark said, “I mean...I’m not totally opposed. But don’t you think it’s kind of  _ weird?” _

Bridget pushed herself up to look at her husband. “I mean, yes and no. It’s weird in general, but I think it’s also incredibly sweet. He’s big enough now that if he comes toddling down those stairs while we’re putting presents out, the whole concept of Santa could be ruined. I’m not ready for that just yet--he’s still just a babe.” At this, Bridget took both hands up to Mark’s face to rake her nails through the graying bits of hair by his temples. “Besides,” she said with a cheeky grin, “this hair of yours is turning the perfect shade of white to make it believable.”

Mark glared at her, which in turn caused Bridget to lean forward and kiss him on the lips. “C’mon, love, what do you say? For being the Holiday Cheermeister in the house, I really thought you’d be more game than this.” 

Mark’s face softened as Bridget cupped his cheeks and he said, “Fine. I’m assuming you already have acquired a costume?”

“Of course I have,” she murmured before placing another kiss on his lips. “I knew you’d say yes.”

Mark set his jaw, not wanting to let on that he secretly was loving her idea, and simply said, “Someone in this house has to have the holiday spirit. I’m willing to be the active participant when I need to be.” Bridget let out a bark of laughter before kissing him more deeply, tasting the red wine on his lips. Mark kissed her back, his hand lingering on her hip to pull her closer to him as the kiss deepened. He pulled back a little to rub his nose against hers before saying, “Let’s get to bed, Mrs. Claus. I have a very long day ahead of me tomorrow, what with getting the reindeer ready and checking my list twice.” 

At that, Mark stood up and scooped Bridget up into his arms. This set her off, giggling maniacally as her imperceptibly strong husband carried her upstairs to their bedroom while he nuzzled into her neck the entire way.

* * *

The next night, Bridget bestowed Mark with the outfit he’d be wearing during their secretive gift arranging. Will had been asleep for a few hours before they decided to get cracking, and Mark had almost forgotten about his wine-fueled promise the night before. Staring up at him from the package front was a jolly looking Santa, and Mark felt himself internally cringe. The costume looked cheap--it was your typical red velvet Santa suit with a black pleather belt and a rather itchy white beard. He gave Bridget a look through his eyelashes.

“You’re absolutely positive about this?” he murmured, not wanting to wake their slumbering son. 

“Absolutely,” she said with a nod. 

Mark closed his eyes in exasperation before giving her a curt nod. “Fine. I’ll be right back.” He turned on his heel and went into the en suite of their master bedroom to put it on. Opening the plastic packaging, Mark felt the fabric under his fingers and cringed. It was itchy and less than comfortable.  _ Over the clothes, then _ , he thought to himself as he pulled the ginormous trousers out of the package. He pulled the elastic band over his trousers and settle them around his waist, and then pulled his jumper off over his head, leaving just his undershirt. He pulled on the Santa jacket and buttoned the front of it, surprised at how much room there was. Glancing into the bathroom mirror, Mark couldn’t help rolling his eyes at his reflection.  _ I look like an emaciated St. Nick, _ he thought to himself as he pinched the sides of the jacket and pulled them out, proving just how much room the jacket left him. Grimacing, Mark dropped the sides of the jacket and busied himself with pulling on the shiny black shoe covers that were jammed in the package. He took once last glance at himself before gathering the beard and hat in his hands. 

As he emerged from the en suite, he saw Bridget perched on the side of their bed. She couldn’t suppress the snort of laughter that came from her, and Mark looked at her. “Bridget,” he said sternly, dropping his arms deflatedly to his sides. 

“Oh, I’m sorry darling,” she said as she scrambled to stand up. She crossed the floor to meet him and put her arms around his waist. “You’re the cutest Santa Claus I’ve ever seen,” she said, trying to repair the damage her laugh had caused. 

“You don’t need to lie,” he muttered, fishing for more compliments. 

Bridget smirked at him. “Not only are you the cutest, but you’re most definitely the fittest. I can only imagine the muscles you must have under there from all of the present carrying you do.” 

At this, Mark couldn’t help the small curl of a smile that crossed his lips. “Don’t push your luck,” he said before ducking down to kiss her quickly. “Now help me with this bloody beard.”

Bridget happily obliged as she arranged the itchy beard on his face, and then placed the red velvet cap on his head. 

“You look perfect,” she said as she stepped back to admire her handiwork.

Mark glanced down at himself before saying, “I look frightfully skinny, Bridget. I’m a far cry from the fat, jolly Father Christmas.” 

Bridget ticked a finger against her lips as she pensively looked around. She suddenly darted towards the bed and grabbed one of their bed pillows before holding it out to him. “How about this?” she asked.

Mark was already sweating in the confines of the velvet (not to mention the layers of clothing he was wearing), but he resignedly sighed and said, “That will do.” Bridget approached him again and began to unbutton his jacket before shoving the pillow into the ample space the jacket provided. After she situated it just so, she buttoned the jacket back up and gave his fake tummy a loving pat.

“Much better,” she said as she quirked a smile in his direction. 

“Good. Now let’s get this over with,” he replied, striding towards their bedroom door. He could hear Bridget padding behind him as she said in an ornery voice, “Yes sir, Father Christmas.” Mark decided to ignore it--he’d repay her for her coyness later.

Once downstairs, Mark and Bridget sprung into Team Darcy mode--they quickly and deftly sorted through Will’s presents and made two piles. One pile under the tree was from Santa, and the one under the picture window across from the tree was from “Mummy & Daddy”. Mark was sweating through his undershirt as he helped Bridget haul a particularly heavy present across the floor to the tree, but he was relieved to see that there were only a few more small gifts to place before they were finished. He secretly loved watching his wife in full-mummy mode, too, so he didn’t complain much. 

They placed the last present under the tree and Bridget checked her watch. “Midnight on the dot. I think this was our best time yet,” she said as she ran a hand through the rogue strands that had escaped her ponytail. Mark looked at her, his heart swelling with love at the sight of the woman who he thought he had lost but regained, who worked her fingers to the bone to make the best life for him and their son, who made magic wherever she went...who was also standing rather perfectly underneath a sprig of mistletoe he had hung earlier. 

Mark crossed the room in three steps before pulling her into his embrace. 

“Mark,” she laughed, “what are you doing?”

Mark waggled his eyebrows at her, gesturing towards the mistletoe with his head. “Seems that you were precariously placed under the mistletoe. Can’t let something like that go to waste,” he murmured, the timbre in his voice dropping an octave. He could feel Bridget melt against him, wrapping her own arms around his velveted waist and tipping her chin up towards him. A smile played on her lips, and her cheeks were flushed from the exertion of moving all the gifts from the closet to the living room. 

“That  _ would _ be a waste,” she replied. Mark took a broad hand and placed it against her cheek, feeling the warm flush underneath his palm. He stroked her cheek with his thumb while his opposite hand slid down to cup the curve of her arse and give a gentle squeeze. “Father  _ Christmas,” _ she breathed, pushing herself closer to him. 

“Yes?” he murmured, leaning down towards her parted lips. He felt a tug on his beard, and for a second the spell was broken. He realized, though, that he was still wearing the curly, itchy monstrosity. He didn’t blame her for wanting to divest him of it. Taking his hands back, Mark quickly pulled the beard down around his neck before embracing Bridget again. “Better?” he asked.

“Much,” she said before pushing herself up on her tiptoes to cover his mouth with hers. Mark hungrily took the kiss on, feeling the heat of her breath against his cheek as her tongue sought his out. He took her lip in between his teeth and drew away at a tantalizingly slow pace, leaving Bridget moaning in his arms. She nipped at his own lips, leaving them kiss swollen and wanting more. Mark swooped his head down, nuzzling into her neck to place soft kisses, interspersed with the occasional bite to her ever-quickening pulse point. 

“Oh,  _ Mark _ ,” she gasped, bucking her body towards his as he reached her collarbones. He gently but firmly placed a bite on the line of her collarbone, which caused her to hiss in pleasure. He smiled at her response, and placed a loving kiss where the two bones met. Mark felt her warm palms on the side of his face, and he allowed himself to be guided back up towards her mouth. She kissed him gently as he slid a hand under her jumper, just at the small of her back. The kiss she had engaged started to trail from his mouth to his jawline, finally settling near his ear, where he could feel her breath teasing him. 

“I want you to fuck me,” she whispered in his ear, and Mark had to exercise an incredible amount of self restraint to stop himself from completely undressing her right then and there. Instead, he slipped his hand from the skin on her lower back down into her pants to properly grab her arse, and it elicited the exact response he wanted. Bridget gasped sharply in his ear before her head fell back. Mark took the opportunity to gently trail kisses down her neck as he massaged his hand into the soft skin on her backside. Just one of his hands was big enough to cover a cheek, and he knew that Bridget secretly loved that fact about him. He took advantage of this as he kneaded his fingers into her, feeling her writhe in his grasp as her fingernails dug into his hips.

Things were just starting to build up beautifully when Bridget suddenly froze. Mark pulled back, his hand still jammed in the back of her jeans, to look at her. “What’s wrong?” he murmured, following her gaze towards the staircase. As a knee jerk reaction to what he saw, Mark quickly pulled his hand out of her pants and took two gigantic steps away from Bridget.

Will was on the staircase, two hands clasped on the balusters that his face was squeezed between. “Mummy? Da?” he said in an inquisitive tone, his gaze raking over them both as they stood there like two horny teenagers caught by their parents. “What are you doing?”

Bridget shot a glance at Mark, her eyes wide as she subtly gestured towards the beard still around Mark’s neck. Mark quickly turned around to readjust it on his face as Bridget said, “Oh, honey, I’m just helping Santa Claus put your presents under the tree.” Mark made sure the beard was secure before turning back around. 

“Ho, ho, ho! Hello there, William! What are you doing up?” Mark intervened, placing both hands on the pillow stuff inside of his jacket in his best Santa impression. He could feel adrenaline pumping through his veins as he watched for his son’s reaction. Their son was no dummy, and this was a rather pivotal moment in whether or not he would believe them. He looked at Mark with heated inquisition in his eyes, and Mark felt for the first time what anyone on the opposing side must feel in the courtroom. He cleared his throat and repeated his question. 

“Is dat really Santa?” Will said, squinting through the dimly lit room. 

“It is!” Bridget interjected, walking towards the staircase. “Now, we should most definitely get back to bed before he takes all of your presents back to the North Pole. You’re not supposed to know when he’s here!” 

From across the room, Mark could see his son’s grip tighten on the balusters as Bridget tried to lift him up. He had set determination on his face as he said, “No. I want Santa to bring me to bed.”

Bridget gave Mark a wild-eyed look of panic, to which Mark shrugged.

“If it means I can get back to my work, then bring you to bed I shall,” he responded in a sing-songy baritone. He crossed the room and walked up the stairs to where his son petulantly sat. Will lifted his face up to look at Mark, and Mark hoped with every fiber of his being that the disguise was good enough to trick their incredibly aware son. Mark leaned forward and scooped Will into his arms, quick to throw him over his shoulder so that Will couldn’t inspect his face any closer. “To bed we go,” he continued, climbing the stairs quickly. He felt Bridget’s reassuring hand against the small of his back as she ascended behind him.

Mark kept his hand cupped against the back of Will’s head as they walked into his bedroom, and he made sure to keep the light off once they entered. Mark strode across the dark bedroom and deposited Will onto the mattress. Will sat there for a second, looking up at Mark, before Mark said, “OK, now, Mr. William. Into bed you go. Climb up to your pillow and I’ll make sure to tuck you in.” Will narrowed his eyes, inspecting Mark’s face. Mark could feel the heat on his neck rising as he expectantly held the bed covers.

“Will, you must listen to Santa. You don’t want him to take all of your Christmas gifts,” Bridget suddenly said, coming forward to stand next to Mark. Mark saw Will look towards Bridget, then back at Mark, before deciding that the fate of his presents was far more important than figuring how who this Santa imposter was that was trying to tuck him into bed. He begrudgingly crawled towards the head of the bed before laying his head down on the pillow. Mark pulled the sheets and covers up over his little body and then deftly tucked him in, making sure to tuck the covers under Will so that they’d be especially hard to escape from.

“There’s a good boy,” Mark murmured in his Santa baritone before placing a hand on Will’s curl-covered head. “I’m going to head back downstairs now to finish my work. I don’t want to see you downstairs again tonight--it took a lot of work to put all of those presents out, and I’d hate to have to put them all back in my sleigh.” 

Will let out a yawn and looked at Mark from his pillow. “OK, Santa. Goodnight,” he said. 

Not wanting to blow his cover, Mark suppressed the urge to give his son a kiss on the forehead and opted instead to push Bridget forward. “Goodnight. Have a wonderful Christmas, William. And be a good boy.” At this, he slipped out of the bedroom and into the hallway, where he leaned against the wall to calm his thumping heart. 

Seconds later, Bridget emerged from the bedroom, a hand dragging down her face. 

“That was too bloody close,” she whispered, looking at Mark. 

Mark tugged the beard off and nodded. “Agreed.”

Bridget took his hand and began to lead him down the hall to their bedroom. She looked coyly at him and said, “I knew you could do it, though. You’re a very convincing Santa.” 

Mark let out a low chuckle as he placed a hand on her hip. “As Holiday Cheermeister, I may or may not have practiced in the mirror since you told me your plan last night.”

Bridget bit her bottom lip to stop herself from laughing. “You didn’t,” she said more than asked. Mark gave her a sheepish grin and nodded. “Get in here,” she said with a giggle, pulling him fully into the master bedroom by his hands. “You have some unfinished business to take care of.”

Mark happily followed his wife into the bedroom where she now stood with her thighs against the back of their mattress. She lifted a hand up to his head and pulled the velvet cap off, and then gently removed the beard from his face. “Ah, yes,” she murmured, taking his flushed face in between her hands. “There’s my handsome husband.” Mark leaned forward and kissed her gently before pushing her back onto the mattress. As he hovered over her, scanning her face with his eyes, he was overcome with so much thankfulness and love for her. Diving in for another kiss, he was surprised to feel her hand pressing against his chest in protest. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, pulling back to look at her.

“Lose the suit, Santa,” she said in a purr.

“Ah, yes. I suppose that would be...pertinent.” 

Mark stepped back to take off the many layers of his costume while Bridget lay on the bed, eyeing him hungrily as each layer fell to the floor. Once he was finished, he was standing before her in just a pair of red and green striped boxer briefs. Bridget let out a guffaw at the sight and said, “Even your underwear are festive?”

Mark gave her one of his famous crooked, dimpled grins and said, “As if you had any doubt.”

With that, he crossed the space between where he was standing and the bed and was quickly on top of her again. She ran her hands down the smooth lines of his torso and murmured, “Yes, I was quite right. You’re the fittest Santa I’ve ever seen.”

“Ho, ho, ho,” he growled before dipping down to take her mouth in his.

****  
  



End file.
